


The Defector

by 11dishwashers



Series: Submerged In Bronze [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character Study, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:26:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: Elise thinks her brain might benefit from a night out. After all, it's Effie who's asking.





	The Defector

Effie rarely invited me anywhere- she was too old for it, really. But there came a point when a princess must go to her old retainer and show up in an old dress, dress down, nude lipstick, and a humble little purse of a handbag. In recent months, I had been tending to the gardens out by my block in the acre. From the roses you could see the main castle too, with its spiralling towers. If I was just a few years earlier I'd be in there. Possibly, I could've been running my hands over tapestries in the chapter house. 

Alas. I was fine where I was. The block I lived in wasn't modest by any sense of the word, at least. I hadn't left it in so long before Effie's son showed up with his hand around an envelope. Tell me now if you won't make it, he had said in an attempt to protect his mother's feelings. I'd looked at him joyously and replied, that yes, of course I'll be there. Your mother and I were very close in her youth(not mine, I'm still young and to die for), didn't ya know? Y-yes I knew, Aunt Elise(hah!), she talks about you so much. Good things I hope? Yes, good things, of course! Alright, I'll let you on your way now. Uh, okay, thanks Aunt Elise?

For what, I'd wondered. I'd done nothing for him at all. My maids weren't as polite as this boy, with his red face and butterfingers. They didn't have to be; most of the time I didn't even get to see them. It wasn't like politeness sped anything up at all, not in its whole lifespan.   
Effie's son, Percy, amused me- and not with any mean intents- I say that moreso with condescension. He amused me, and therefore I liked him, like how I might like a jester or a day of the week. 

I closed the door after he left, and found myself alone in the hallway. From the kitchen, I heard a maid rummaging through my freezer; I'd told her to defrost the chicken for dinner. 

I put the envelope on the shoe rack, which was largely filled with slippers for my time spent indoors, old pairs of sneakers with their colourful bands falling off them, and strappy high heels that were practically new, underfoot still red and shiny. I switched my slippers for dress shoes just so I wouldn't have to carry them in my hands, and went to the kitchen. 

"Don't bother defrosting the chicken," I told the maid, Felicia. See, I knew her name as she was a family friend of sorts. As Marx had fired her from his block of the castle, she worked for me now. Actually, she was bad enough at her job. Most of the time the food would be set on fire, or she'd put something down on a table too hard- yes, she had this weird super strength- and it'd smash through the wood and leave a silhouette of itself where the surface once was. 

She turned from where she'd been pulling ice packs out of the freezer, onto the floor and out of the way. Her face was awfully pink, for whatever reason. "Oh, how come?" she asked, holding one hand against her face. It was only then that I noticed how red and cold it looked, like steak fillets dripping all over their plastic containers. It must've been painful to hold.

"I'm going out," I told her as I leaned against the countertop. "If you want, you can stick around and cook your own dinner here."

"Oh!" she gathered up a pile of ice packs in her arms and started stuffing them back into the drawer. You could see them through the somewhat frosted glass, cramping against each other- it made no sense to me how they all fit in the same place. It was as if they were defying the laws of physics. "Thank you, Lady Elise!" 

"No problem. Also, could you hang the washing out on the line?"

 

The wardrobe boasted a decent selection of dresses. When I was younger, I used to only wear this one to the point where one of my older brothers called it my uniform, but I'd since grown bored of black as a colour. Something about it didn't go right with the way I liked to stand, as if I was a stamped up dark mage out on the front lines rather than a fun loving young lady. Sometimes you could forget what you were at all, in this room- no one around to address you by title, walls so bare they could be broken down into paint samples. 

I liked it better this way; sometimes I'd play a little game in my head, where I'd pretend I was a prisoner who counted down his years on both hands. Sit with my spine to the wall and legs bundled together, waiting. Those bare walls. 

I shook my head and remembered what I was doing. The wardrobe swam into sight, with its clothes hangers all facing away from me. Most of the dresses were frocks, in the sense that you'd wear them to a funeral or a baptism, but never a wedding- they wouldn't impress an orphan, really. I kept this in mind as my hand ran along each of them, fabrics mostly feeling the same- silk. 

The aim of the game was to outdress Effie. Effie wasn't exactly a fashion icon, but she'd become one just for me to play around with my sense of esteem. She was awfully charitable in this way, and it made me feel red and bloody out of embarrassment. I really was still a child in some ways, begging for someone to humour me and trade off their time of day for my arm and my leg and my continued sanity.  a child in some ways, begging for someone to humour me and trade off their time of day. 

The dress I chose was tight on top and flowy on the bottom, more a red point of argument which said ' _ Elise doesn't need to wear revealing clothes to look this good _ '. I understood the basic reasoning behind the clingy clothes- look like you've stepped out of a swimming pool in prada, skintight and delectable to the eyes- but really, Effie wouldn't appreciate my efforts. Not that her opinion carried much weight, just. It was easier this way, where I could let my knees flail about and disconnect from my shins in heels, without imposing too much of a strain on the skirt. 

The lantern burned on my window pane, right by the bed. It was behind me and I could barely see more than lack of light in the mirror. The outline of my form was so abstract, it felt like I was guessing people by the shadows. 

I turned and pulled the top of the lantern- the steel handle was as hot as a thinly cut kettle between my fingers. With a blow, the flame let out and trailed smoke up into the air. I replaced the cover, now in darkness, barely seeing where I was walking at all, making my way towards the door. The heels were wobbly but I could make them still with focus and intentional confidence. Tonight would be good enough, I decided- I could force it into shape if it was necessary. 

 

It wouldn't be necessary. I took my time on my way into town, wearing a jacket like a coat of armour or a disguise. The closer to the center I got, the more I realised that Effie was one of my simplest pleasures in life. I mean that goodnaturedly, with no traces of manipulation. I assure you that much. 

She had done a lot for me, during the war. I don't mean protecting me from enemies. Even back then, I could hold my own in the same way I held my staff; with confidence and a little craziness. I'd beat enemies over the head with a weapon of healing. But back then, she cared for me as if she was my mother. In my oversized pigtails and oversized life, I was her charity case. She wasn't the sister she tried to be- I couldn't understand sisterly love anyway- but she was a friend for(rather than to) me, in the same way that cousins attended the most distraught of birthday partys with tight polos their mothers forced them into and giftwrapped board games. 

The air got denser with grease the further I walked into town. It was so dirty and polluted, in a way that affected the bottom of your throat and made it swell. 

It had been a while since I'd gone out, and naturally, I'd gotten used to people leaving me alone. Suddenly, bald men in tweed jackets were catcalling me from the opposite side of the street or the edged lines of the pavement I walked. If you've ever allowed yourself to forget about such things, now's the time to remember. I hated Nohr at night- I really did. The liveliness had this double edge to it; you could tell that people who you locked eyes with in alleys tonight would be goners tomorrow, one night stands would be regretted, orgasms would be faked, bar fights would be resolved in assassin's dens, I'd have germs crawling up my skin when I closed my front door later. It was the natural progression from our busy yet clean cut daytime. The darkness was the only place where you could take your twisted, nightmarish demons out for a walk, and no one would notice since they'd cast no shadows. 

My heels were covered in gutter leaves when I got to the bar. There didn't seem to be any standout features, other than the fact that its name was enclosed in Percy's envelope earlier. No universal points of interest though. Another pub with a black sign and ugly, loopy writing that looked like it  _ might _ be a family name, maybe family owned, blackboard advertising today's special- steak and kidney pie. My stomach was empty and actively letting me know. 

I stepped into what I could only, reluctantly, describe as the foyer- it was square shaped and empty. You could hear the live music act through what I presumed was the actual entrance to the bar. On a corkboard, someone had left a whole bunch of irrelevant leaflets, unless pub crawlers were in need of cat sitting services from Nohr's finest cat handlers. Whatever that was.I wiped my heels on the mat below me for quite some time, determined not to use my hands. It took ultra specific angles to scrape some of the gunk off. They were spotless by the end of it, truly worthy of my outfit.

Inside(even moreso), a band were playing some chordy songs that never seemed to end on this raised platform, and Effie was over by the counter, purse in one hand, tonic in the other. I wrinkled my nose and made my way past a large gathering of card hooligans. Tonic tasted like rain that had been ran through a radioactive valley, in my opinion. I didn't possess the refined tastes that my status lead you to believe, but I was above tonic, even so. 

She had this white dress on that I couldn't see too well, by the way she was sitting. It had a collar that was straight from a classroom- yet nice. Her hair was done up wavy. She'd have it in tangles by the end of the night, whether it be through drink or through Arthur's hands. 

I smiled at her and took the empty stool that she'd been saving. No doubt, had gotten into arguments over, had gotten threatened over.

Looking at Effie, you wouldn't expect her to be able to hold her own. Yet in this specific cut of dress, sleeves be damned- you could see the protein shakes and constant training that beefed up her forearms. 

The stool was wooden and one of its legs was shorter than the others. It went this way and that as I leaned over the counter to catch the bartender. 

Effie hadn't noticed me yet- she was staring off into space, which might as well've been the stained countertop. 

"Can I help you?" the bartender asked, not stopping to look at me. You could see his black waistcoat from between the beer taps. 

I ordered a pint to start off the night. The money in my purse called out to me;  _ you deserve a higher percentage than that _ , it said,  _ get yourself absolutely smashed.  _

Effie had noticed me by that point, and she was about to say something when I thanked the bartender for the glass that had been placed before me.

"Lady Elise," she breathed out, looking about ready to faint. I tugged at my collar slightly, wishing I could flip it inside out to the feel the coldness, like what I might do with a pillow. It was hot in here; bodies packed together, a lack of oxygen expelling warmth. 

"How've you been?" I asked, taking her hand to examine the rings on it. She knew I liked to fiddle with jewelry. It was a habit of mine. 

I didn't have any rings of my own to observe. She knew this, too. Perhaps my lack of picking up adoration was another habit for the pile. 

"Oh, good," is all Effie said. Her fingers shivered when I ran my own over her wedding band- goldplated and simple. She had this amethyst silver ring, too, on her index finger- it was so dark in the bar's light that honestly the gem looked like a big, sharp mole. "How about you?"

I swung my legs, which were dangling off the stool. My beer tasted too much like beer, and I could feel it running down my spine when I sipped at it. "I haven't done anything in so long," I told her, then paused to down my glass. I was tired of it. I needed more, more, more. "Thank god. I hate doing things."

"I know," said Effie, covering her mouth with her hand. I could tell she was amused anyway. "You make it very obvious."

I moved forward on the stool, elbows up on the countertop, skin stretching across my forearms depending on how I jostled them. The bartender was lean and his flesh pointed downwards. The contours of his face looked odd and ghostly with the atmosphere, and his glasses were surely slipping off his greasy nose. Looking at him, I thought I should take up my old painting classes again. There wasn't a lot else to do when I had no enemies. At least, not anymore. 

I waved a hand out and he stepped over, black dress shoes that I could barely see- yet I still managed to get a glimpse at- hitting the floor heels first.

"How can I help you?" he asked while pawing at his glasses lenses. They were clammy from the air, waxy, fingerprint smudges outlined so obviously. 

"I'll have a vodka martini," I said. Next to me, Effie snorted. I hadn't thought I'd sounded that desperate, but it didn't make me frown- just grin a bit more. It'd been so long since I'd washed my insides out proper. Money was lying around. What more could be done? 

Maybe he thought I wouldn't notice, but the bartender looked me up and down like he thought I was a pin up girl, or an underrage drunkard. To the surprise of many, I was neither of these things. It was almost a night ruiner- I hated to be reminded of the mold I'd been brewed in. Unlike my older sister, Camilla, I couldn't adjust to it so easily. The platforms and the cement scared me- I wasn't cut out for it. 

He passed the martini over while I was stuffing my face with the remaining ice from my pint. I almost said 'oh, goody!' like a petulant child when I saw it, but I suppressed this, instead wagging my fingers around it slightly before pressing them against the flute of the glass. It felt too fragile to hold. 

"Oh, me too, me too," said Effie, sidling up and over the countertop too. If you were a midget, you could see up her skirt. She was practically off the stool. "Me too!"

The bartender came back and calmed her down with an outstretched hand for the money, and another hand around the bottle of vodka. 

"Me too," I called as he tried to move away from us. I held one hand up like I was searching for a high five, then dropped some coins onto the counter. I hadn't finished my drink yet. I wasn't even too tipsy, but sometimes the prospect of it was more electrifying than the swaying of the brain cells themselves. 

 

As you can imagine, we were up to our necklaces in alcohol by the time Effie decided it wasn't enough. We had to  _ drown _ . 

"Let's-" she slapped the counter, "get out of here. Let's get out of here, Elise. We can go buy some vodka, some tonic, some soda, and just drink it all."

"Yes, yes," I nodded and pushed her shoulder so she swayed on her stool. "Okay. Right, yes."

She helped me get my handbag over my shoulder with her trembling fingers, and I asked if she had a jacket- it looked cold out and I could care deeply for others when I was drunk enough. You could tell it was cold by how all the window frames were frosting up, so you could only see the shadows of people smoking outside rather than actual figures. Lighters wobbling more than necessary through a layer of raindrops. 

"Yeah, I do," she said and pulled her coat on the wrong way, so the hood looked like an ass flap or something. I laughed and detangled it from her, throwing it, along with my arm, over her shoulders. 

We stumbled out of the bar an unmeasurable amount of time after deciding to leave it. That was when I realised I knew the town about as well as I knew the names of my maids. That being, I had one part down but the rest escaped me. Everywhere I looked, townhouses. Turn to the left, town houses. Turn to the right, town houses. Maybe a church. 

Effie lived in one of these houses, probably with Percy, though I wasn't too sure what age he actually was. 

In any case, she had a firm grip on one of my arms and had taken it upon herself to steer me in a meaningless direction. Like a bloodhound, I sniffed the air I walked through in hopes of catching that dusty, apple cider scent that reeked from liquor shops. We looked ridiculous in our dresses and huge parkas, like two university girls becoming proverbial driftwood off campus, or a librarian who'd fallen off her bicycle on the way to work. I leaned against Effie and she supported me fully with her super strength- it seemed like everyone had super strength these days, minus me. I had been a reluctant cleric in a land of concoctions and elixirs, who did my job better than I ever could. Glass bottles twenty times as sturdy as my frame, and my brain, and my mouth that ran away from my mind. 

"Where are we," I said, and she hushed me very violently. It was like stepping into Camilla's house, what with the new baby. Lord knows she could kick up a fuss over Nina when she wanted to(guess who was her godmother, hah). 

Effie even put a finger over my mouth, and I nibbled at it just because I could. This didn't deter it for some reason. "Buying more booze," she said quietly, like it was some secret. The streets we were walking through were soaking up the noise of the buildings surrounding it, like a buffer. I didn't have to struggle to hear how my heels clicked out of sync with each other and Effie's. 

We found this supermarket on the corner of a street, sketchy and wrapped up in its own red painted signs. I hung out of Effie as she strided in, my hands practically strangling her. These heels were really killing me, for gods’ sake. Never again. 

She nodded to the guy at the counter, who stifled a laugh and went back to doing some sudoku puzzle on the counter. The place was empty, save for us and our air of stupidness. 

I got lost at the toiletries aisle, and lamented over the fact that detergent came in such pretty tin boxes even though it couldn't be eaten. My hunger was deepset and churning slowly, giving the impression that it might force some vomit out through my eyes or nose. I snorted and wiped at some of the liquidy snot surrounding my nose- it was chilly enough out that I'd been leaking like a faulty hose(innuendo? Afraid not). 

"Elise!" Effie called out when she emerged from- somewhere- with a bottle of vodka that should've been behind the counter, really. I was beginning to suspect that I was way drunker than her. Or she was stronger than your average mountain bear. I really didn't know, to be honest with you.

I allowed myself to be strung along to the counter, where the clerk was almost done with the whole grid of numbers. I reached out for the page but he swatted my hand away, a bit meanly. I hadn't done anything wrong, other than being drunk and dumb, after all. 

After buying our drink, we filtered ourselves away from the store and began scrounging for an empty alley to open the bottle in. I wasn't exactly the type of girl who could be caught drinking in the streets, after all. Marx wouldn't come down to bail me out of overnight prison, he'd be too ashamed. If worse comes to worst, Camilla was really the one I could rely on for it. Or maybe Niles would sway her into showing up in her fluffy bed socks and hair rollers and nightgown and house keys in her other hand just to say 't _ his is only a little bit out of my way' _ , sweet talking the guards progressing into arguments and threats. She really was my favourite sister out of the lot. The lot, consisting of two. We didn't talk about Kamui. Not that it was a touchy subject- just none of us cared to. 

I was young enough that Kamui's presence hadn't left such a big imprint on me. I didn't care about her as a person, let alone a sister. 

"Gods," said Effie, failing to open the bottle cap for the sixth time. 

"Give me that," I said, practically snatching it up. It was actually kind of hard to get open; my hands were very clammy from being clutched around Effie for so long. We were both quite sweaty, to be honest with you. I had to get a handful of my dress fabric and twist the bottle cap with that, just to get it open. When it did eventually flick off I groaned and took the first sip. 

Well, did half the bottle count as a sip? In any case, I'd consumed it. Effie punched me much too hard and took the bottle again. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and her eyes looked wet from walking facing the wind for so long. With the townhouses surrounding us and the moon, it almost looked like she had shadows of cheekbones, which I knew weren't actually there- she wasn't flabby, but her face was heart shaped and soft. I'd experienced it go from strong jawed to this, through marriage and fighting and growing older, rather than growing up. 

I wondered how I looked. My mascara felt heavy for some reason- in my head, I played with the idea that it might've become eyeshadow through smudging alone. 

We drank ourselves into a coma, almost, when I'd decided I had enough of the cold and wanted to go back to the bar. So we did. It was as simple as that, really, a fact that was actually quite surprising, all things considered. Back in the days before we all packed up our tents into grey plastic bags and brought them away, Effie and I would spend a lot of time doing each others' hair and wondering what our lifespans were shaping up to be, and it was complicated even back then, I as a seven year old and her as a nineteen year old. It's been twenty years, and all the things that ruined everything on us were expelled to rotting flesh at the bottom of iron armour or memorials in Hoshidian parks, with bronze statues in the village squares, remembrances conducted once a year for too long of a time. The funny thing about war was that you could conquer a nation and seize it, yet the people you pulverized would be the only recognisable names years down the line, and you'd be forgotten and used as barter in a debate about morals, somewhere, sometime. 

I would be forgotten like a face on a playboy magazine. My body to ashes that churned about in soil, sprouting plants where I'd once faded, remembered through a bronze statue of what I looked like if my features were adjusted to the ideals of a sculptor. I wouldn't have to care about it at all- I'd be dead.

So for now I followed Effie down the street and up to the pub, which was the one we'd started out yet. I took some brief notice of a pool table which was behind a host of people- I hadn't noticed it before in the slightest. 

We got seats by the bar, because it was one of those nights where everyone was loitering about on their two feet. The stools were emptier than before even, and it wasn't all that late. I ordered a literal glass of cranberry juice because my liver was giving me a hard time, and Effie ordered a gin and tonic and a bag of roasted peanuts, which she handed me; I hadn't even been aware that my stomach was rumbling at all, but I looked at her with grateful and adoring eyes as I pulled the plastic apart. 

After our drinks arrived, I sat there with the wrong end of the straw extending from the very corner of my mouth for quite some time, and then I begged Effie for a sip of her drink, and she finally gave in and pushed the glass towards me. 

"It's awful," I told her, hacking at the lime aftertaste. I sipped on my own straw extra hard for a few seconds, until I figured out that I was about to wet myself if I didn't move quick. "Toilet," I said simply, and waddled away to the lady's room. Effie didn't even bother following me. I could've felt offended, but it wasn't worth the hassle. All I was thinking about was clamping my bladder with my legs anyway. It made walking quite hard, in all honesty, but I made it into a stall without any slip ups. 

When I returned to the bar, I saw Effie talking to some guy- he was leaning to whisper to her in a way that made me feel a bit sick with intimacy. It took me too long to realise that it was Arthur, and it dropped this small parcel of sadness into my brain where I wondered how long it'd be until I forgot what Effie looked like, too. All these people I held near and dear were drifting and I was caught at the harbour, in a stranglehold by my expected life and my unlimited options, and I'd only remember Felicia's face, and my own. It was sad how the important things could be ripped straight from underneath you like that. 

I walked over and they paused to show that my presence was known. Effie's eyes were a bit misty, and she was biting her lip. 

"What's going on?" I asked, sort of moving my lips until they were in a straight line. 

"Percy got his foot caught in a grate," said Arthur, a bit sheepishly. "He's being tended to by medics as we speak."

"A grate?"

"Yep, a grate," said Effie. I almost cackled myself into fits, then shook my head because I felt guilty. 

"Sorry," I said.

"It's pretty funny," she said, smiling down at me. "But I should probably go and make sure he's not gonna die."

"Oh."

"Yeah, we should bring you home too, it's only right," Arthur said, moving to pick me up. He didn't quite get there because I turned just on time. 

"No," I said, knowing I couldn't face my room, not drunk and alone. "Leave me here, I'm fine."

"No you're not," Arthur frowned. 

"I am," I said. "Please. Just go. I'm fine, I swear."

After a bit of back and forth, they reluctantly agreed to leave me at the counter. I sat there on the plaid fabric cushions for quite some time by myself, tasting how my glass of cranberry juice got more disgusting the more of it I drank. 

The bartender left and some girl filled up his place, and she braided her hair without looking between orders, hairbands around her wrists and clips tucked over the hem of her trousers. Still, I stayed. Every order was suddenly some variation of fruit juice or soda. I thought I might puke the city into a tsunami if I could scratch at my throat just right, push the thing that plugged the vomit out of the way so it'd all come pouring out from between my lips.

"Elise!" said a voice, that I almost didn't catch. "Is that you? Holy shit, It's been a while."

I pulled my jacket(which now functioned as a blanket) tighter around my shoulders, feeling like I was in the stomach of a boa constrictor. The voice was sitting next to me then, silky enough that I'd be breaking a number of illusions by checking who the perpetrator was. 

But I turned anyway. It was, "...Laslow?"

He had his hair done in the same way, grey but not greying, eyes glimmering but not attracting any crows, outfit casual but not modest by any means. I wasn't so sure if turtlenecks were in, but the black one he wore made me think that they should be. He really hadn't seemed to age a day. Unlike the case with Arthur, I could recognise him with my ears cut off and a dose of colourblindedness, shortsightedness. "My my, I must say I didn't expect to see you in a place like this."

I licked some sugar off my straw and felt him watch me. "Well, here I am."

He laughed a bit breathlessly and paused to think. "Are you drunk?"

"I was, maybe I still am," I shrugged, trying to send him a smile. I was in one of those moods, you see. I could trot right away into my room and lock myself up there and never be seen again- that kind of mood. The itch to look in the mirror was so strong, I wanted to know, almost desperately, how shitty and smudged my mascara was. Split ends that were sticky with beer. I could attract a certain type of man, a type who liked to fix other people's problems for them. 

The bartender asked him if he wanted help, because he hadn't bought anything yet, and he flailed and said he wanted whatever I was having. 

"Cranberry juice," I said. Maybe I imagined him playfully rolling his eyes, but I didn't know how they looked enough to think it up, so. 

He pressed his lips around the red striped straw. You could see the juice rising up the thing, through the light, the hollowness of it. "So, how are things?"

I shrugged. "Guess I can't complain."

The next thing hit me like a bullet a little bit, even though I was painfully aware of the truth it carried so diligently. "You've changed," said Laslow, frowning at his drink. It really was disgusting. 

"Yeah... I guess I just realised I had to grow up," I laughed a bit, embarrassed. 

I was almost a different person altogether. What with my renewing cells, if I chopped my hair all off I could pass as a made up identity- believe me, I've thought about it. Cynicism was the only thing I couldn't seem to forfeit through the dressing down that had been dubbed 'growing up'- at least, for me. It made up a whole section of my brain, a flavour that I couldn't wash off my tongue, and there wasn't much else that I could define myself with. Nice? No. Funny? No. Bright? No. Lively? Not anymore, no. 

"Does growing up constitute being less happy? Because if so, I disagree," Laslow replied. 

I couldn't think of a response. He was wrong, though. 

Some could call me lucky for having experienced the war so early- forgetting was supposedly easier. Now it felt like I'd been branded all over with it. Deep running, purple bruises with unknown origins, all up my forearms. 

He was on his third glass of cranberry juice when I remembered it. 'It' hit me like a mace, and I almost coughed up an ice cube(refrozen in my gut). "I used to have a crush on you," I said, and his eyes widened just as mine had.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," I said, racking my brain for memories. "Like, a  _ huge _ one."

He laughed into his glass, turning to look me in the eyes. It was hard not to go red when being examined in such ways. "That's crazy," he said. "I never realised."

"I never spoke to you."

"Then why...?"

My mouth quirked slightly, all lopsided. "It was one of those spur of the moment things that only seven year old girls get," I told him sincerely.

"Huh," he said. 

"I used to imagine this one moment, where I was old enough that you'd marry me."

"Huh," he repeated, sounding marginally more interested. "And then what?"

"And then I never saw you again," I frowned. The bartender came up and took my glass, but I didn't ask for another. Everything felt too sour to stand. The whole place was becoming tonic before my very eyes. 

He hurried to finish his drink and pay for his tab, which was a substantial amount of cash, considering how much he'd actually ordered. Even now, as I was stir crazy and twenty seven years of age and a complete shell of who I once was, I still found him attractive. It really was a shame that I didn't get what I wanted. 

"I'll walk you home," he said as we stepped outside. I considered asking him to take my heels, too. They were making my feet throb unpleasantly. 

"You'll walk me to the castle," I corrected him with dismay. 

And so, we walked, me shivering into a puddle, and him carrying my heels, offering without even a suggestion of my discomfort. It wasn't exactly awkward, even though we were mostly just reminiscing. He was Laslow, thirty eight and living alone. We were too different for much to work out. 

I stuttered up to my door with my wobbly legs, and almost forgot to ask for my heels back- but he handed them to me, then held my hands. "I hope you're not drunk," he said. 

"I'm not," I assured him, quietly. 

It seemed to be the right time to kiss, so we did. It wasn’t slow or fast or much of anything, but I was just happy to be held in someone’s arms.  When we parted, his eyes were dark and heavy, and I felt smothered yet hopeful. 

"I'll call tomorrow, alright?"

"Right," I murmured. “Night, Laslow.”

“Take care of yourself,” he waved as he walked off, back down the path that lead into town again. I didn’t know if he’d return. 

 

Closing the front door, the germs of the night crawled up my hands. I had wanted to say ' _ this is what I dreamt of back then _ ', but the words had died in my throat. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess this is it then.  
> follow me on twitter @11dishwashers for updates !! tho my fandom isn't fire emblem lmao


End file.
